Harry Potter's Twin Sister
by Dobby and Padfoot
Summary: Skyler Potter always knew that she was different. What she didn't know was that her twin brother was none other than the boy-who-lived. What happens when Skyler magically appears at Hogwarts during Harry's first year? What house will she be in? Will her and Harry share a special connection, or will they not recognize each other at all? Warning: child abuse. Rated T. Under Revision.


**Alright. So, by now you've probably seen my reasons for wanting to rewrite this in some fashion, but the just is that I no longer like writing in the present tense as it limits my capabilities for writing the story, so I'm changing it to mostly past tense.**

 **I took all my other chapters down to start reposting because no one said they had an issue with me replacing rather than starting a new story. Also, because I don't want to deal with having two of the same story.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its characters. Obviously, that is why this is being posted on fanfiction and not a major publishing company.**

 **Hope you enjoy.**

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My name is Skyler Lillian Potter, and before I tell you my story I'm going to explain my life leading up to it. I had dark, jet black hair and bright emerald green eyes that sparkle when I felt a particularly strong emotion. Through my right eye, I had an old jagged scar in the shape of a lightning bolt, but I could see fine through both eyes. Back then people were always telling me I was pale as a sheet, but really I can't be blamed. The only times I was allowed out of the house was to weed the gardens and to walk to school, which didn't leave me much time to perfect my tan. I was also rather short and skinny, owing mostly to the fact that between the ages of four and eleven I rarely received consistent meals.

See I appeared outside an NSPCC office Halloween of 1981 when I was a little over a year old with a note that read:

 _Skyler Lillian Potter. Born July 31, 1981._

This nice couple adopted me soon after, but they died in a car wreck when I was around four. From there, I bounced around temporary placements for about a year before landing with a final family who adopted me later that same year. The Newlins, composed of Elijah, Josephine, and their son Dulcis. In Latin, his name translates directly to sweet, which is an oxymoron because he was the exact opposite. They were nice for a while. Well, Josephine and Elijah were, but then strange things started to happen.

I couldn't explain them. Not completely, but contrary to what I told everyone, I was fairly confident I caused them. They usually occurred at times that are opportune for me in terms of taking revenge against people who had wronged me, and sometimes, I could control them. I understand you might be confused, so I'll give you some examples.

One time, Duke, the name Dulcis chooses to go by, and his group of friends -they were all complete bullies who liked to pick on people who couldn't fight back. I'm not sure if they're still like that; it's been a while since I've seen any of them- were trying to convince (read: force) me to do their homework for them. They tried this often. It doubtless won't come as a surprise to you when I tell you they were very daft. They loved to force me to do their homework and tear up mine so that I would get in trouble. This time, though, I must have been really fed up, or perhaps it was because one of them had punched me in the ribs, but, whatever it was, all of their fingernails suddenly started to grow until they were nearly seven inches long. They were all horrified, and scared, but I thought it was funny. Sorry, I mean until Elijah found out, I thought it was funny.

By this time, several other, _incidents_ , had occurred and Elijah was beyond angry about this one. I think I was around nine or ten at the time. He locked me in my room, which, by the way, was the attic, for a week, and that was after he gave me a mild concussion and a couple of broken ribs. Once every one or two days, he'd bring me something to eat, if he was in a good mood.

My attic wasn't in the best condition. I had an old rotted mattress on the floor and a ratty old blanket, and the ceiling leaked. But, at least he hadn't locked me in the dark cellar, so for that, I was thankful.

Another instance I remember is when I was at school -I was maybe seven at the time- and I received a top grade on a test. It wasn't all that uncommon; I was good in school, but I hardly ever turned in homework, mostly because Duke destroyed it all, so most of the teachers hated me. It didn't help that the Newlins told all my teachers that I was a liar and a cheater.

They hated it when I was better than Duke in school, but honestly, being worse than Duke in school was harder than finding a needle in a haystack. Scratch that. It was harder than trying to find a specific piece of hay in a haystack. Usually, I tried not to do things that anger them. There wasn't any reason to go looking for punishment. However, on the issue of grades, I refused to bow to what they wanted. It wasn't an only then and there issue. My grades would affect me for the rest of my life. How could I ever expect to get away from the Newlins if I couldn't get into a good University and get a sound job?

Anyway, she was mad at me for what she thought was cheating, and she was going on and on yelling at me. I was trying to explain to her that I hadn't cheated, but she really didn't seem to care. I found myself wishing in the back of my mind that she would just quit looking at me and yelling when her glass lenses exploded. None of it went into her eyes, luckily, but she blamed me. I don't know why she came to that conclusion. Obviously, I knew it was my fault, but I wasn't sure how she could know that. She dragged me to the headmaster's office and, when he called the Newlins, they were far from pleased. They locked me in the cellar for five days, I didn't receive any food, and I walked with a limp for a good three months afterwards.

It wasn't as uncommon an experience as you might think, but this incident stood out to me because it was the first time I realized that I could will these things to happen. I could cause people to back off of me. Unfortunately, it didn't work all of the time, but, when it did, I was grateful.

I had other experiences like talking to a garter snake while I was doing the weeding, lighting one of Duke's friends, Matt's, hair on fire after he broke my wrist when I was eight, vanishing from break when Duke and his friends were chasing me. I reappeared in the sanctuary of the library, but I got suspended for breaking school rules, and I got in trouble with the Newlins, of course.

None of these, however, was the strangest thing I ever did. No. The strangest thing that ever happened to me was the Dreams. They were common, very common. Especially leading up to the start of my story. Every night when I would fall asleep, I would see the highlights, big events, of someone else's day. Every single dream was about this boy named Harry Potter. We shared a birthday, and he looked like me. He had the same black hair, though his hair was significantly wilder. The same green eyes, though his were framed by wire frame glasses. He even had a scar in the same shape as mine. A lightning bolt on his forehead. Although, he had his for as long as he could remember, and I remembered the pain of getting my scar.

Now, I understand that you might think this is some wild fantasy I made up because my life was painful. It wasn't. Harry's life was hardly better than mine. Surely if I wanted a fantasy to make myself feel better I would've picked someone with a happy, normal, white-picket-fence life. Not Harry, who lived with his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley, who all seemed to hate his guts. Whenever Dudley was in one of the dreams I got the same, completely rational, to me at least, urge to punch him that I got when I was around Dulcis. I actually gave in to this urge once or twice, and the results weren't pretty. I'll let you imagine my punishment for that because for some reason I doubt you want to know, nor do I have an intense yearning to tell you about it.

Another similarity between Harry and I was that he made strange things happen too. His relatives obviously knew something about it because they always blamed him and called him a freak when it happened. They would get this sour look on their faces like he had done something revolting.

One instance I can recall is when Harry was being told off by his primary school teacher for his supposed bullying of Dudley. In reality, it was the other way around, but Harry's teachers always blamed him. Suddenly her hair turned a bright electric blue. His Aunt and Uncle locked him in the cupboard under the stair, for that served as his bedroom until he was nearly eleven, for a week. He was given a minuscule amount of food each day.

During the dreams, I would usually be able to feel Harry's emotions at the time. I could hear his exact thoughts, but I could tell when he was upset, and I could tell when he was pleased. When he was injured, I felt the injury myself. And, when he was hurt really bad, I felt like I could close my eyes and appear by his side. Of course, I never tested this. Not until after, but I'll get there later. At that time, I didn't even want to fathom the possible consequences of disappearing to Harry's side. But after, I would always wonder why I hadn't done so sooner.

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 **Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. Hopefully, I'll get back to a semi-regular updating schedule soon. :)**


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